Accordingly they went on without stopping, fording the RIO
of Los Huasos and also the Chapaleofu, a few miles further on.
Soon they were treading the grassy slopes of the first ridges
of the Sierra Tandil, and an hour afterward the village appeared
in the depths of a narrow gorge, and above it towered the lofty
battlements of Fort Independence.

CHAPTER XXI A FALSE TRAIL

THE Sierra Tandil rises a thousand feet above the level of the sea.
It is a primordial chain--that is to say, anterior to all organic
and metamorphic creation. It is formed of a semi-circular
ridge of gneiss hills, covered with fine short grass.
The district of Tandil, to which it has given its name,
includes all the south of the Province of Buenos Ayres,
and terminates in a river which conveys north all the RIOS
that take their rise on its slopes.

After making a short ascent up the sierra, they reached the postern gate,
so carelessly guarded by an Argentine sentinel, that they passed through
without difficulty, a circumstance which betokened extreme negligence
or extreme security.

A few minutes afterward the Commandant appeared in person.
He was a vigorous man about fifty years of age, of military aspect,
with grayish hair, and an imperious eye, as far as one could see
through the clouds of tobacco smoke which escaped from his short pipe.
His walk reminded Paganel instantly of the old subalterns in
his own country.

Thalcave was spokesman, and addressing the officer, presented
Lord Glenarvan and his companions. While he was speaking, the Commandant
kept staring fixedly at Paganel in rather an embarrassing manner.
The geographer could not understand what he meant by it, and was
just about to interrogate him, when the Commandant came forward,
and seizing both his hands in the most free-and-easy fashion,
said in a joyous voice, in the mother tongue of the geographer:

"A Frenchman!"

"Yes, a Frenchman," replied Paganel.

"Ah! delightful! Welcome, welcome. I am a Frenchman too," he added,
shaking Paganel's hand with such vigor as to be almost alarming.

"Is he a friend of yours, Paganel?" asked the Major.

"Yes," said Paganel, somewhat proudly. "One has friends in every
division of the globe."

After he had succeeded in disengaging his hand, though not
without difficulty, from the living vise in which it was held,
a lively conversation ensued. Glenarvan would fain have put
in a word about the business on hand, but the Commandant related
his entire history, and was not in a mood to stop till he had done.
It was evident that the worthy man must have left his native country
many years back, for his mother tongue had grown unfamiliar,
and if he had not forgotten the words he certainly did not remember
how to put them together. He spoke more like a negro belonging
to a French colony.

The fact was that the Governor of Fort Independence was a French sergeant,
an old comrade of Parachapee. He had never left the fort since it
had been built in 1828; and, strange to say, he commanded it with
the consent of the Argentine Government. He was a man about fifty
years of age, a Basque by birth, and his name was Manuel Ipharaguerre,
so that he was almost a Spaniard. A year after his arrival in the country
he was naturalized, took service in the Argentine army, and married
an Indian girl, who was then nursing twin babies six months old--
two boys, be it understood, for the good wife of the Commandant
would have never thought of presenting her husband with girls.
Manuel could not conceive of any state but a military one, and he hoped
in due time, with the help of God, to offer the republic a whole
company of young soldiers.

"You saw them. Charming! good soldiers are Jose, Juan,
and Miquele! Pepe, seven year old; Pepe can handle a gun."

Pepe, hearing himself complimented, brought his two little feet together,
and presented arms with perfect grace.

"He'll get on!" added the sergeant. "He'll be colonel-major
or brigadier-general some day."